Chapter 29
SEAN
Sean rubbed his throbbing jaw where his trainer had landed a hard blow.
Get up, Cathaire Signed.
On one knee in the grass, Sean spit the blood from his mouth and threw a glare at him.
The pixie lifted both arms. “This is what you wanted, no?”
“I said I needed distraction, not a death sentence.”
Cathaire scoffed. “No such thing as a death sentence for the Savior.”
Sean’s eye twitched. He stood to face Cathaire again, diving deep into Lhynion’s memories to extract combat skills. The Blademaster struck, and Sean blocked him with one arm. A quick succession of kicks and punches ended with Cathaire on the ground, Sean digging a forearm into his throat.
Improvement, the pixie Signed with a grand smile.
Sean drew back and reclined on his elbows to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow, wishing it was so easy to wipe the anxiety from his mind.
The pixie mimicked Sean’s pose and snatched up a blade of grass. The vibrant green twisted in Cathaire’s thin fingers. “We have lingered too long here. My Leyla will be cross.”
Sean smiled at the way Cathaire said her name, always My Leyla, as if the possession were just a part of her.
He’d noticed it among other bonded couples, too.
One could always tell a pair of mated pixies by the lack of touch and the abundance of eye contact, by the way they revolved around each other yet remained entirely separate.
He’d never have that, Sean realized. And he didn’t want it. Not with Bel. Not after this.
Throwing a smile toward Cathaire, he said, “Will she forgive me for stealing you this afternoon if I bring her some of Aunt Blaire’s jasmine tea?”
Cathaire stood. “She does love that concoction.” He pointed toward the forest. “I believe your lady requires a word.”
Sean’s gaze landed on Isobel standing in the shadows of the trees. Her hunter-green dress blended with the forest, and her auburn curls were braided away from her face. Even from this distance, even in his anger, Sean sensed her allure. A sigh escaped before he could stop it.
Cathaire raised a brow. “Trouble?”
He offered a half-hearted shrug. “They say she’ll die for me.”
The Blademaster’s gaze dropped to his hands, where he busied himself loosening and retightening his leather belt. “Aye.”
“What lengths would you go to to keep someone alive if you knew you’d die when they did?”
Blue eyes touched on him. “What has she done?”
Sean shook his head. He couldn’t even speak the words.
“Ah,” Cathaire said. “Well, distractions can’t last forever. You must face it.”
As he heaved himself to his feet, he said, “That’s what they keep saying.”
His trainer chuckled and held out his hand.
After a quick wrist grasp and a peck on the temple, Cathaire gripped his shoulder.
“’Tis a heavy burden you bear, Ashanta. A realm’s deliverance in your hands.
Lives lost in your name. A war fought for your blood.
These are enough to muddle anyone’s head.
But you are still just a man. Your heart beats the same as the rest of us.
Listen to what it says.” Your heart guides your way, he added in Sign.
With that, Cathaire bid him goodbye. The silence when his footsteps faded wasn’t a true silence. The birds still chirped. The wind rustled the treetops. The stragglers on the training grounds still shouted and laughed, a reminder that Sean wasn’t alone.
Your heart guides your way.
Sean’s heart couldn’t have been more lost. Stuck with the legacy of a martyred ancestor. Living among people who believed him a Savior sent from their goddess. In love with a woman who’d betrayed him. Bound to a man who’d always hated him.
He laughed inwardly at the twisted way his prayers for somewhere to belong had been answered. If he’d known this would be the result, he never would have asked for such things. But there was a saying about that. Something about beggars and choosers.
For the millionth time, he thought of his mom. Grief and anger stirred—the profound sadness of missing her poisoned by the resentment of the mess she’d left. She would have advice for him now. She’d know exactly what to say.
Your heart guides your way.
If his heart was his guide, perhaps he should start listening. It had been warning him about Isobel from the very moment he laid eyes on her. He’d known something was off, but he’d ignored it in favor of the poisonous magic between them.
A stone’s throw of grass existed in the space between him and Isobel, but a thick nothing settled there instead.
You stole my soul.
He wanted to say it, to make her admit she’d done something wrong, but she never would. Mistakes made in fear weren’t called mistakes. They were necessary evils. Inevitable.
Sean didn’t need to have the conversation to understand Bel believed she’d acted in his best interest. Her attempt to control the uncontrollable, however, had exacted a price he never would’ve agreed to pay.
He held his ground. Several more seconds passed before she made the first step, then the next, until she stood before him, her lips pulled tight at the corners.
He opened his mouth but had no idea what to say. Fury built like layers of oozing lava, and he knew if he said anything, he’d regret it. He turned to leave.
“Sean, wait!”
He paused mid-step.
“Please.” Her voice caught, and her acidic hand snaked around his elbow, gently tugging him back. “I’m—I’m sorry, okay? But I did it for you.”
Pulling himself free, he hissed, “You poisoned me.”
She flinched—whether from his cold tone or his words, he couldn’t tell. “The bond isn’t poison.”
“David is poison, Isobel.” Even saying the words brought an icy sense of guilt, like speaking ill of a good friend. How had he not noticed this new pulsing attachment, as if David represented something to be cherished?
Bel’s eyes turned glassy. “This will save your life.”
That fucking Sending.
She’d done this because of a prophecy, and he couldn’t even gather the strength to read it. He didn’t want to read it.
Because it wasn’t true!
But how much longer could he put this off?
Deep inside, blocks of ice stacked themselves one by one, imprisoning all the shards of hot anger that wanted to slice their way out.
The part that wanted to rant and scream fell silent behind a wall of frost. He grew preternaturally still, and his voice went dark. “I value my soul more than my life.”
“Well, I value your life.” Bel reached for him, but he yanked his arm away.
“You value your life,” he said.
“I’m sorry this hurt you, Sean, but it was the only way to end the hostility between you.”
“How can you think that’s the most important thing? You put his soul inside me.”
Her gaze dropped to the ground. “You’re still you. The binding doesn’t change you.”
Where was this calm coming from? His insides were in stark danger of freezing to death, but the ice kept his anger in check, turned it into a honed blade made to slice deep.
He stepped closer, crowding into her space. “If it doesn’t change anything, then why do it?”
Isobel retreated.
Another step erased the space she so clearly wanted. His voice softened, emphasizing the sharp edge—a velvet-lined dagger. “What if he dies, Bel? What if he turns into Galadaine? Did you stop to consider what David and I could accomplish with his magic, my reputation, and Galadaine’s ideals?”
A well of darkness opened in her eyes before she shook it off. “You would never do that.”
Sean turned and swore. “You are so selfish.”
“Selfish?” Her tone was incredulous. She followed him as he marched away. “I did this for you.”
He whirled on her and pointed a finger in her face. “No, you did this for you. You did this out of fear. You did this because you think if you can make David a little less like Galadaine, he won’t be such a threat to you. You stole my soul and gave it to my worst enemy.”
“Sean.” She pulled on his elbow so he faced her.
“He scares me, he does. I won’t deny that.
But it isn’t really him that scares me. It’s just the potential—what he represents—that scares me.
That isn’t why I did this. I hate what’s written about us.
I hate what I’ve been fated to be. But even though I’ve hated it forever, I still couldn’t help but fall in love with you.
I want you protected from the threat David’s blood poses.
I don’t want you to suffer what Lhynion suffered. I love you, and I want you kept safe.”
She’d never said those words to him. He’d assumed, even expected it, but hearing the words in her voice affected him more than he’d thought it would.
This wasn’t a memory of Meléan whispering into Lhynion’s ear. This was Isobel Faywood, standing before him, declaring her love.
She loved him because of magic. She hated it but loved him anyway.
And in that moment…Sean couldn’t say it back. Couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t even remember the giddy tenderness that had developed in his heart where he kept her.
He searched inside and found the love tucked between resentment and rancor. His magically induced feelings turned sour and obtunded—like a veneer had been stripped away, exposing the coarse, dirty material beneath.
This wasn’t love.
This was magic.
And it sucked.
An instant later, all the dirt and grime wiped clean. The love shone golden once more, and Sean was left blinking and cold.
What the—
Bel dropped his elbow. “Sean? Did you hear me?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “You—you act like it’s a gift. This is a gift I didn’t want. It isn’t a gift at all. This is a burden.”
“Once the shock has worn off—”
“No.” The word burst from him. “Don’t tell me I’ll get used to it. I don’t want to get used to this. This wasn’t your decision to make. You stole something from me, and I’ll never get it back. I’ll never be the same.”
Isobel recoiled, and the dewy shine in her eyes expanded to tears. Clouds covered the sun. He glanced at the darkening sky, and a single drop of rain landed on his cheek. Her tears spilled, and so did the sky, triggering some switch in his head.